Beaven, DeSantis giving all for District 6 in final days

Democrat Heather Beaven and Republican Ron DeSantis are making calls and knocking on doors nonstop in their race for the U.S. House District 6 seat.

DEREK CATRONSTAFF WRITER

The sight of candidates on television, standing behind a podium on stage or surrounded by enthusiastic supporters at a rally might convince you it's a glamorous life on the campaign trail. Other moments, rarely seen by voters, reveal a different story. In hopes of learning more, both about the candidates and the process, The News-Journal went behind the scenes with one of the most high-profile races in the Volusia-Flagler County area, the District 6 congressional race. With no incumbent in the district that stretches to include St. Johns and most of Putnam County, the race between Democrat Heather Beaven of Palm Coast and Republican Ron DeSantis of Ponte Vedra Beach is more open than most. Both faced primary opposition — DeSantis prevailed in a field of seven candidates — and both have enjoyed considerable support from the state and national parties. By this point in the campaign, most voters know how they will fill in their ballots on Nov. 6, if they haven't done so already with an absentee ballot or through early voting, which started Saturday. President Barack Obama's supporters likely will fall in with Beaven, whose moderate views still fall far to the left of DeSantis' positions, which often lean more conservative than those of Mitt Romney. Yet, like the presidential races, both campaigns are scrambling in the final days to win over increasingly rare undecided voters. DeSantis, 34, has a built-in advantage with registered Republicans outnumbering Democrats in the district by about 6 percentage points. DeSantis, an attorney and former Navy JAG officer, also has raised far more money than his opponent, totaling $896,559 through Sept. 30 compared with $311,631 for Beaven, 43, also a Navy vet who operates a Palm Coast-based workforce and education foundation. Both are campaigning as if the race will be determined in the final nine days.

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Campaigning door-to-door is something of a misnomer in the Information Age. With a smart phone equipped with software that includes mapping and voting records, DeSantis covered much of Ormond-by-the-Sea in the couple of hours he had last week between a television interview in Orlando and meet-and-greet that night in Palatka. So late in the campaign, DeSantis limited his efforts that day to independent voters with a history of casting ballots. It's typically a two-person job — one drives while the other navigates. But DeSantis has been doing this about every weekend (and weekdays when time permits) since June. He's so accustomed to his system that campaign staffer Brendan O'Hara is relegated to returning phone calls from the backseat. "Especially in a primary, (door-to-door campaigning) can be a huge way to separate yourself," DeSantis said as he pulled forward, checking an address against the information on his phone. "I've met 75-year-olds who tell me they've never met a candidate for federal office before." In a flash, DeSantis jumped from his Ford F150 pickup, walking up the driveway with the speed of a man late for an appointment. Most of the people aren't home in the late afternoon, so he leaves a sheaf of campaign literature — inscribed with a hand-written note — tucked into door handles. He was back to the truck and off to the next house on his list just as quick. The pace was typical, O'Hara said. "It makes it easier to get out there yourself because you know he's out there even earlier than we are," said O'Hara, who would normally be working another part of the neighborhood. This outing was different, a time-killer between other obligations. DeSantis isn't one for killing time, though. He's dressed in khaki shorts and a black short-sleeved shirt, one of three outfits he'd packed for the day. He wore a suit and tie for the television interview. He had a clean shirt and jeans to wear with the suit jacket that evening. The spare shirt had been smudged over the course of the travels. O'Hara called DeSantis' wife, Casey Black DeSantis, to see if she could bring a clean shirt when she met them later. Black DeSantis, the co-host of a daytime television news show in the Jacksonville market, usually joins her husband on weekend outings to knock on doors. Given her day job, she can't get out as often as her husband, a former federal prosecutor who's devoted himself fulltime to the campaign. "He gets out there every waking moment, it seems," she said. "He's one of the hardest-working people I've ever met. I tell him, 'You can take a day or a half-day off,' but he just won't. We get back from church on a Sunday and he's like, 'OK, let's get some lunch and get out there.' " There isn't much in the way of immediate gratification to door-to-door campaigning, especially on a weekday afternoon when fewer people are home. It's clear many people don't want to talk. "They appreciate you showing up," DeSantis said, "but they're just tired of being badgered, either on TV or in their mailbox." Rich Lohmann, a retired serviceman from the Army, was different. He wanted to know what DeSantis is going to do to get the economy growing. He has firm views about energy policy and the impact of Washington bureaucrats, including congressional staff members. "Be your own man," he urged DeSantis. By the time they finished, the candidate had the first tangible reward for a couple of hours of labor. "I may just vote for you," Lohmann told him. "I don't know, but I may just yet. I'm impressed that you came out here."

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On a sunny weekday morning, Heather Beaven escaped the confines of her Bunnell campaign office, but she couldn't flee her responsibilities. Perched in the bed of a campaign staffer's pickup truck, she basked in a few minutes of sunlight while talking workforce training on the phone with a Gadsden County school official. Though the campaign takes up most of her time, Beaven still has a day job that pays the bills. After she finished with the school official, she called her office to relay information from the call and issue instructions on how to manage in her absence. Lots of professionals juggle myriad responsibilities between work and home, but Beaven has taken multitasking to a new level during the campaign. Her husband, Douglas, is serving in Afghanistan with his Army reserve unit, leaving Beaven — who wears a chain around her neck with copies of her husband's dog tags — home alone with their two daughters, Olivia, 9, and Bella, 7. During the campaign, the Beavens decided to home-school their daughters — both of whom are competitive surfers — so Heather could make the most of the time she has with them. A tutor works with the girls when Beaven can't, and her mother, Nanci Whitley, helps pick up the slack when she's not volunteering on the phones in the campaign office. "We have a village," Whitley said with a smile. "Fortunately, she has a lot of energy, and she's a terrific multi-tasker." Back inside the campaign office, Beaven secluded herself in an office with Chris Binder, the campaign's finance director. He worked a laptop while she worked the phone, going through a binder filled with potential donors. They hoped to raise enough funds to get out a TV ad that might mitigate their opponent's financial advantage.

The task is even less fun than going door-to-door. Most of the people she calls don't answer their own phones. They have gate-keepers who take messages that are rarely returned. "How long do we have to do this today?" Beaven asked, not really expecting a reply because the answer depends on the next commitment, and Beaven was due at a luncheon event that day. "Call time is only fun if you get to talk to people." While on hold, she shared stories of how other candidates motivated themselves for donor calls. One would allow himself a glass of wine after completing a pre-determined number. Another set out a bowl of ice cream. Beaven's reward? "I get to have human contact," she said. "They let me out for events." Her sense of humor served her well whenever she got through to someone. She shared a laugh with nearly everyone, even as they talked specifics on the outlook for the race and how differently she and her opponent view national issues. The clock ran out on "call time" long before Beaven could get very far through the binder of prospects. Another session would be needed later. There's always another session. But the work paid off. Beaven's team launched a TV ad the following week. Maybe it would reach a new audience of potential voters. The days are running short, and so is the time before Election Day.